Chasing Arrows
by Jordietheshortie
Summary: Katniss and Peeta have built a life of their own in District 12 after the unfortunate events of Mockingjay. Katniss is just starting to overcome her fear of getting hurt when a new force of evil strikes down in her world, threatening her family's lives. Through a series of events Katniss finds herself back in the Hunger Games alongside her oldest child. This time, it's personal.
1. Chapter 1

**First of all, welcome to my story. Second of all, I hope you enjoy. I appreciate honest feedback on my story so don't be afraid to post a review at the end**!

_Fingernails, dragging slowly down a chalkboard. Blood, dripping off her fingertips and down to the forest floor below. I watch in horror as her knees begin to knock together, threatening her body to fold in and topple face first into the dirt. She looks frail, fragile, and weak. Her lips are no longer presenting the smile that everybody had once loved; but a frown, a frown so sad it makes my heart crack. What happened to this girl? What happened to this girl on fire? Before I can say anything to her, because I can reassure her that everything will be okay... she falls to the ground, a pool of blood surrounding her limp body. She's dead._

"Katniss!"

Thin bed sheets and fluffy pillows are thrown off the bed in my attempt to flee. My heart pounds like a raging bull in my chest and my hands are shaking, dripping with thick sweat. Peeta grabs me by the hand, pulling me back down onto the bed. He pulls me close, but all I want to do is get away.

"Don't touch me!" I yell, accidently hitting him in the jaw with my elbow, trying to wriggle out of his tight grasp.

"Katniss," he breathes warm air down my neck. "It was only a dream, calm down. It was only a dream." As per usual, my body relaxes and molds in with his, silently sinking into our normal nightly routine.

"Sorry." I mutter, still trying to get the shakes out of my hands. So many images are spiraling around my head, so many sounds are still ringing in my ears. A light flickers on in the hallway and I can hear a set of footsteps walk down the hardwood floor towards our room. They stop for a moment, listening to the sounds of my ragged breathing. The footsteps go away and the light goes out.

"God dammit," I unmold myself from Peeta and this time, successfully make it off of the bed. The cold floor feels nice on my sweaty feet and I begin to pace the room, my arms folding against my chest. "How much longer will this have to go on?"

"Katniss, would you like to talk about it?" Peeta asks in a gentle tone although I can tell he's pissed; it's three in the morning. I look into his eyes, so full of love and kindness… I wonder what he sees when he looks into mine.

"Peeta, when will these nightmares stop? When will they end? Our life is good… it's normal…" I trail off, my voice becoming choked by upcoming tears. I swallow them not wanting to show my emotional side tonight. "I love life right now."

Peeta smiles at me and relaxes back into his pillow, his eyes becoming heavy with sleep. "Life is good."

"Then why the hell do I keep having these nightmares?"

He's tired of it, I can tell. This time, he answers me with the sound of his soft snore and his chest rising up and down at a steady pace. I roll my eyes and smack the wall beside me with the palm of my hand. I look down at it, bewildered as to why it hurt so much. Peeta awakes with a jolt and jumps out of bed, stepping right into his slippers.

"Did you hear that?" He whispers, slinking along the wall fumbling for something in the darkness.

"I smacked the wall with my hand, I was mad and…"

"Not that!" he interrupts me in his frantic mood. He finds what he's been fumbling for: a wooden baseball bat. He grips onto it tightly with two hands as if he's about to hit a homerun. "It sounded like glass breaking." He pushes past me and silently slips out the door.

Peeta has never been one for stealth. His fake leg squeaks on its hinges, clearly getting older just like him and I. I chuckle silently to myself as I follow him on his mad dash down the hallway.

"Peeta, I didn't hear anything. It was probably just my hand."

He turns around on his heels and puts a finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet. Moonlight flooding in from the small windows illuminate our surroundings, shining light on picture frames and odd wall decorations. Peeta rounds the corner armed with his baseball bat, and sure enough the vase that usually holds primroses is knocked off the table, shattered into bits. The flowers lie helplessly on the floor, water lapping over their petals.

"It was probably just the cat." I whisper, trying to contain my anger towards that cat to myself. As a teenager I had thought that Buttercup was the worst cat I had ever met… that was until Hank showed up at our doorstep, covered in dirt and feces. Peeta reaches the light switch on the wall and soon enough the kitchen is lit up for all of us to see. I was wrong. Hank did not knock over the vase of flowers but right now, I really wish he had.

Peeta and I look into the face of our stunned teenage daughter who is lying on the kitchen table with a boy, hovering over her body. He kisses her neck and hugs her tightly but before he can put his hands anywhere else he notices us standing there and leaps off of the table.

"Mom, Dad, I can explain." Lorena stutters, pulling her tank top up over her chest, her face going red with embarrassment.

Peeta drops the baseball bat and rushes over to Lorena's boyfriend, grabbing him by the arm and rushing him to the front door.

"I'm sorry, man, I didn't know!" I can hear the boyfriend say to Peeta, pleading forgiveness. I expect to hear the door slam and the lock turn but instead, Peeta gives him a warning.

"The next time you come into this house you will be under my supervision. I honestly can't see that happening anytime soon. Stay away from my daughter."

The door slams.

Dogs bark and howl outside and I can hear people outside on the street, whispering about what just happened at the Mellark's. Our neighbours will surely talk about it at their breakfast table's tomorrow morning as they get ready for the long day ahead of them. But what do I care? Right now, my attention is on my drunken daughter who half slides half falls off the table. She bangs her head on the way down and yells out in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She says again and again as Peeta and I rush to her side to help her up on her feet. Her brown hair is caked with mud and her breath reeks of strong liquor. There's a scratch on her cheek and a little bit of blood trickles down but all the same, she still has a smile on her face.

"It's okay," I whisper trying not to let my anger get the best of me in a situation like this.

"It's okay?" Peeta growls. "This is definitely not okay! What the hell were you thinking bringing a boy into the house like this? And this late? You broke your mother's favourite vase!"

"It's okay Peeta, it can be replaced." I look down to the flowers that are still lying on the ground, dangerously close to being stepped on by Lorena's high heel shoes. I can't help but wonder what Prim would have been like if she had made it to Lorena's age. Would she be this rambunctious? Would she play with fire and get burned in the outcome? Would she be as bad or as rebellious as my seventeen year old daughter?

I look into Lorena's eyes and I see fear and it pains me to think that right now she could be scared of her own parents. Quietly, I guide her away from Peeta's anger and slowly but surely walk her to her bedroom down the hall. Her room is littered with clothes and dirty dishes are stacked up on her dresser and nightstand. I try to give her privacy as I know every teenager needs, but maybe I've been giving her too much? She slowly stumbles and lands face down in her bed, mumbling something about the party she was just at. I look to the window to see it open, the early morning breeze blowing in from outside. I bend down, my finger fiddling with the straps on her shoes, trying to take them off.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Lor?"

"Are you mad at me?"

I pause only to concentrate on getting her shoe off. It topples off and crashes down to the floor like a paperweight. Lorena sense my hesitation and groans loudly.

"No," I quickly answer. "But we will discuss this in the morning. You owe your father an apology."

"I know," she grumbles and drops her head back onto her pillow. "I didn't think…" her voice slurs and then she starts to giggle. "I didn't think that it would affect me this much."

"That's the funny thing about alcohol Lor; it makes you underestimate yourself. Who'd you get it from? Penny?"

I think of Lorena's annoying, brown eyed, over the top friend who always walks into the house without knocking. Penny is the reason why we now have deadbolts on our doors and locks on all of our windows. Lorena's fit of giggles start again.

"No," she laughs as if it is the most ridiculous thing in the world. "I found it."

"Really? And you thought it was wise to drink it?"

The other shoe comes off easier than the first. It tumbles next to the other one, side by side. A memory of what this room used to look like comes back to me. A small crib in the corner, a nightstand with a lamp on it… very plain and very simple. I was terrified and beyond scared what someone might do to her if they got the chance. Peeta helped me get over my fear of having someone snatch her. He helped me get over my fear of the Capitol. Lorena goes silent and looks as if she is sleeping peacefully in a room full of garbage. I lean in close and kiss her on the forehead. The same fear came back to me tonight when I saw her boyfriend. She's growing up too quickly and I don't want her to leave where I can't protect her.

"Hey, Mom?" Lorena calls to me before I've left the room.

"Yes?"

"I love you. "

"I love you too."

I close the door behind me, making sure not to wake Lorena or Peeta, who has vacated the room and turned off all the lights. My fourteen year old son won't be a problem; he sleeps like a rock. I turn around, my fears slowly leaving my body for the night, going back to sleep mode.

That's when a heavy weight is thrown on my body, pinning me to the ground in a violent hold.

My fear is back.

**_I hope you all liked the first chapter! I know it may seem a bit slow right now but I wanted to start off with a glimpse of a normal life that they have. It will become an action packed story with lots of emotion and great characters. Please review! _**


	2. Chapter 2

Since the war, I've woken up every day next to Peeta. We've gotten up together, made breakfast together, went on walks together… so it was strange that during my first pregnancy I felt completely alone.

Lorena was a mistake, I didn't want a child. I didn't want to bring a child into a world where people were at each other's throats, begging for bloodshed. I didn't want her growing up knowing that her parents had taken people's lives all for the sake of their own survival. She would think I was a monster. I had entertained these thoughts to Haymitch one night over dinner with just the two of us. He laughed and waved it off with a glass of whiskey.

"If your child is anything like you, it'll be tough, stubborn as hell, and they won't listen. They're lucky if they get Peeta's brains."

I haven't admitted to him that he was right; I didn't want him to have that satisfaction.

I sit here now on an empty milk crate, looking into Haymitch Abernathy's eyes. The cotton blanket draped around my shoulders is comforting against the setting of Haymitch's cluttered garage. Cardboard boxes are still shoved up against the wall as if he's still in the process of moving in. The yellowed boxes on the bottom are no doubt from before I was even Reaped the first time.

"Why did you attack me? I would have come if you would have just called."

Haymitch leans forwards and hands me a glass of water. "Sorry sweetheart; I didn't want to wake the kiddies."

"Trust me, Lorena was awake. She came home drunker than you."

Haymitch furrows his eyebrows and then a wave of realization washes over his face. "So she took it."

My heart stops beating for a moment. "She took it? What does that mean?"

"Little Fire came to me yesterday looking for some advice about a certain boy. I told her that sometimes, when you're nervous, a little alcohol can make it better."

"Haymitch!" I'm ready to throw the glass of water in his face and watch as his long blonde hair drips. "Why the hell would you give my daughter alcohol? She's only seventeen!"

"Yes and she'll be eighteen in a week," he shoots back at me. "And I didn't give it to her. I left it on the table and I told her it was her choice." He takes a sip of water – or what appears to be water- from his own glass and drinks it nonchalantly.

"Why wouldn't she go to me for advice?" I know questioning Lorena's decision won't do me any good and by the looks of Haymitch's displeased expression, he didn't sneak into my house and drag me out to his garage for this.

"I don't know Katniss, maybe because you've always been a little distant from Lorena? Marco too?"

"Don't bring my son into my daughter's mess!" I hiss at him, slamming the glass of water down on the floor. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

Haymitch digs around in the pocket of his pants and pulls out a piece of paper. The paper has been folded together many times and by the looks of the stains it has travelled a long way. He hands it to me and I hold it delicately.

**_'It's coming.'_**

**_-Volts_**

"Volts?" I question, my eyebrow raising. "Are you saying that this letter is from Beetee?"

"No," Haymitch snatches the letter from me and points out how the 'v' is shaped. "This isn't his writing. He wouldn't refer to himself as Volts. He didn't give himself that nickname. I think Johanna sent this."

Without meaning to, a laugh erupts from my throat and into the air, echoing around the room. "Johanna Mason? I haven't spoken to her since the rebellion. Why would she want to help us? She cut ties with us a long time ago."

"Believe it or not sweetheart, but Johanna actually does have a soft side. You of all people should know that after the time you spent together in District 13."

I bite my lip; it's true. "Okay, so what if she is trying to warn us. What would it be about? The Capitol is run by a group of people, not just one President. It's worked for many years."

"I don't know, that's what I'm trying to figure out."

Silence overcomes the two of us while we think for a moment. What could this message mean? A horrible though crosses my mind: a new President. A beam of sunlight enters Haymitch's garage and I'm blinded for a moment, sitting on the milk crate with a glass of water. Life is so simple right now, so plain... I like it. The birds begin to chirp outside and I can almost see them perch their small feet on the branch, pecking at the rough bark.

"Can't life just stay like this?" I whisper, the sun still in my face. Haymitch steps in, blocking the light with his chubby beer belly.

"Sweetheart, go get some rest."

As I leave Haymitch's garage the shuffling of everyone heading off to work is heard. Looking up at everyone in suits, holding briefcases, and only the occasional coal miner makes my heart skip a beat; I wish Prim could see this, how society has turned out. Peeta will be leaving shortly for his work in the bakery, baking pies and bread for the people of the newly improved District 12. At the edge of town, in the grassy meadow that was once a battle field, lies Prim's tombstone which is marked by a willow tree that towers over the others. I make sure to go there everyday.

Walking into the house Peeta has already left, leaving behind a trail of his freshly baked bread that was in the oven all night. I stand over top of the primroses lying on the floor, drowning in the water. I pick them up and place them into a new vase, ready to take to Prim's tree.

"Mom?" Marco's voice startles me, causing me to turn around sharply on my heels. Marco is in his pajamas, walking blindly with sleep in his eyes into the kitchen. He steps in the broken vase and cries out in pain. I lunge forwards and catch him before he can hit the floor hard. He's trying to wriggle out of my grasp and look at his cut on his foot, but I have it already examined and the shard of glass pulled out of his flesh before he can blink.

"Are you okay?" I ask him although I already know the answer. He's rocking back and forth, clutching his bleeding foot. I get up and toss him the paper towel from the counter. He misses catching it and it hits him right in the face, ruffling his dark brown hair.

"Just peachy," he remarks sarcastically. "Lor's puking woke me up."

"What?"|

"She's throwing up."

And sure enough, Marco was right. The violent sound of Lorena in her room heaving up her liqueur can be heard.

"Clean up your blood." I mumble to Marco and make a dash for her bedroom. I find her crouching over her plastic garbage can on her hands and knees, a few tears escaping from her eyes. She looks worse than I when I left her; and it was only four hours ago. That feeling of something coming out of the deep and dark depths to harm her comes back to me and punches me in the gut. I walk forwards and sit down next to her with my knees drawn up to my chest.

"Go away." She mumbles and then vomits again. I roll my eyes; typical teenager. Although, when I was her age I was worried about fighting for my life. All she has to worry about is whether or not she'll get a good grade on her homework; what I would have done to have that option as a child. I move in closer, trying to pull back her fake blonde hair so it doesn't become entangled with the chunks. Her natural colour is brown, but she refuses to look like me. She tells me it's because she wants it blonde, but I know she's embarrassed of me. I don't know how I'd feel the if the face of a rebellion was my mother.

"Lorena..." I whisper, astonished as to what I have discovered underneath her hair. "What is that?"

"What is what?" She asks, just as confused as I am.

I'm staring at thick strokes of black pen on her neck, and it isn't fake. I touch it with one finger, hoping it'll rub off, but it's permanent. The artwork on the tattoo is incredible, breathtaking, even. The bird's beak is open, tiny spurts of fire escaping. It's wings are spread open in flight but in its chest is an arrow, little droplets of blood trailing down and stopping at her collarbone.

"Lor, get dressed. We have to go somewhere."

* * *

**_Sorry I haven't updated in a while! I'll try to be on top of it more! Please review, I enjoy feedback :) _**


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